


Queer Eye for the Chef Guy

by legendarytobes



Series: culinary advice [9]
Category: Lucifer (TV), Miranda (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendarytobes/pseuds/legendarytobes
Summary: Lucifer finally starts in on his plans to get Gary back with Miranda, starting with a makeover.





	Queer Eye for the Chef Guy

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU for Lucifer around the time of the episode "Monster" (just after it) and for Miranda 2.04 "A New Low." That said, the timelines have been futzed with so that the actual years for Miranda overlap with Lucifer.

**Queer Eye for the Chef Guy**

He woke up to the frantic pounding on his flat door. Everything was ridiculously expensive in the City of Angels, and he technically had roommates. Two blokes who were part of the hard-working multi-hyphenate group. He didn’t see them much. Both were baristas at a Starbucks a few blocks over. They’re up around the time he would return on a good day from Lux, the kind of days that didn’t include LAPD or infernal emergencies. Days that seemed to be getting fewer and far between. However, as he rolled over and checked his mobile, Gary groaned.

It was only eight a.m. He’d fallen asleep after a long shift and some time to unwind no earlier than five. He was running on three blessed hours, and there was no way that Aaron or Jeff had come back from the coffee shop when they’d both been up at four to open it.

Since that left Gary with pathetically few acquaintances to his name and only two who knew where he lived, well, it was something infernal this morning. He was going to have to try to explain to Ms. Smith and the big boss about boundaries. In theory that could work. Then again, as few times as he’d spoken so far to Linda, he’d already gathered that it was a miracle when Lucifer didn’t budge in on her lunch hour or just kick earlier patients out of their own sessions so _his_ could start earlier. The King of Hell was learning empathy, but it was clearly a slow process.

It was more than one could currently say for Ms. Smith.

Bleary-eyed, Gary climbed out of bed and slid on the first t-shirt he found over him and his sweatpants. He was pretty sure it was inside out, but it was only eight. If he didn’t know for a fact that Lucifer---Ms. Smith wouldn’t bother to track him down here, hadn’t even after the boss’s warrant was out---could either rip the door off its hinges or just do that weird lock whispering bit he did and force the door open, he’d have just slumped back into his bed, pillow firmly overhead, until the devil went away.

Yes, he’d promised to let Lucifer have a project while Linda was working through her whole existential crisis. He had said nothing about starting it this bloody early in the morning, and he had hoped that Lucifer would give the project a few days. Frankly, after breakfast yesterday, Gary was actually hoping that Lucifer, like the magpie he was, would get distracted by something shiny or several someones or a murder (or all three at once), and forget about his quest to both save his (nonexistent) love life and, apparently, instill him with a better sense of style.

The knocks got more fervent, and Gary stilled, worried about the door he couldn’t really afford to replace. Okay, so the boss would cover it because Lucifer had more money than God, probably literally since neither angel so far had mentioned the Lord Almighty having an interest in earthly anything, but it would be a pain in the arse to explain to his flat mates how the door was ruined in the first place.

“Oy! Boss, come on!” He stomped out to the main room, which served as the den and micro-kitchen combo, and opened the door.

Just as he expected, Lucifer Morningstar, looking both like a million bucks and, most likely, as if he hadn’t slept at all last night waltzed into the flat like he owned it. He did not, but, then again, Gary supposed, once the king of a whole realm, always. It was in the other bloke’s bearing, that mix of just imposing into your space mixed with what he’d first mistaken for arrogance and some upper crust resentment of peons but, in reality, was far more predatory.

His boss was still wearing his royal purple three-piece suit from last night and the bright gold pocket square was perfectly folded in its spot. Perfect, well _some_ people had to sleep. He wasn’t completely sure any of the Celestials or Ms. Smith had to. If he had to bet, he assumed that angels and demons eventually crashed, particularly demons. As for the goddess? Human vessel or not, she seemed the most alien and odd out of all of them. Gary bet she rarely slept, if at all.

The one thing Gary hadn’t anticipated was the leather computer bag over one shoulder.

“Well, Preston, are you going to invite me in?”

He frowned. “So, I’m clear on the devil thing…if I denied an invitation?”

“Don’t be daft. I’m _not_ Dracula. It’s just polite, and you’re not a Yank. Show a little hospitality for your guest.”

He rubbed at his temples. Already, Gary figured this was going to be a very long day. “Please Mephistopheles, come in.”

Lucifer smirked. “I haven’t heard that one in a while. Someone’s been Googling.”

“I did at first, and then last month there was this special on the History Channel about you…erm, well _Dante’s Inferno_ and it was on and a sight more interesting than the guy with the crazy hair always talking about aliens, which I’m not rightly sure needs to actually be on the History Channel and wait!” Gary blinked, and he blamed the lack of sleep for the next words out of his mouth. “Are aliens real?”

His boss arched an eyebrow as he set the computer bag down on the sofa. “Of course. My father _tinkers_; it’s what he does. And he has an attention span to rival mine so he’s always inventing something. How do you think you lot got here after he’d really perfected the mold with angels?”

“Excuse me?” Gary opened and closed his mouth in quick succession. He needed tea for this. Lots of it. Hustling to the kitchen he picked out the kettle and set it on. All the caffeine, all of it. “I was mostly kidding.”

“Oh, you should be careful what you ask then. You never really inquired much after your time in hospital.”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.” He yawned as he filled up the kettle and set it on the stove. “So far, I know Satan’s real and met his mum. No, scratch that. I give Charlotte weekly cooking lessons, and I also occasionally bump into his angel brother. My manager’s a demon. I didn’t want to press it further. That sanity I cling to just needs to stay put.”

“You asked. If you want to pry more, feel free. I’m an open book.”

Gary snorted and started everything to heating up. “Right.”

Lucifer leaned back against the nearest wall. “You sound skeptical.”

“Oh sure, boss, you’re very transparent.”

“Try me. Ask away,” he replied, gesturing out with his right hand, palm laid flat. “Few mortals ever get the chance to ask all the big questions. I mean, far be it from me to deny. Don’t ask about the meaning of life because, well, I’m already damned and I’ve no idea what it is, let alone what it would be for mortals.”

“So Santa?”

“Real, although mostly just the idea of the actual saint who was around circa 300 A.D. The gift giving tradition is all very much like that ‘why yes, Virginia’ rot.”

“Easter bunny?”

“No.”

“Sandman?”

The boss stiffened. “We’ve a history. It’s only semi-companionable. He and his siblings are something else. Fun fact in that, while he’s got a sister who is Death, I have a little sister who’s the Angel of Death. Azrael, to be fair, just collects the souls, she can’t actually affect any death on her own.” He sighed and scrubbed at his face, actually looking tired for once. “Her purloined blade, however, is quite another story.”

The kettle started to squeal, and Gary moved it off the burner and poured himself a cup, being sure to add a generous tablespoon or two of sugar to it. “Maybe I did ask too many questions.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Cause you’re closing off, which, while I called that, I’m betting your little sister’s death blade---God, I miss Surrey---isn’t something you want to think about.”

Lucifer grimaced but pushed himself off the wall to stand straight. “Uriel stole it, and things got buggered from there. I don’t rightly know yet how he tricked Sis out of the blade. Just glad I’ve got it sorted away from human hands. Nasty piece of work, basically preys on mortals until they have to use it. And dearie me, we’re going on about me…”

Gary snickered. “As opposed to other days, boss?”

“You know, I can’t tell whether I like the rapport we’re developing or not.”

Gary arched an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“While it’s nice that so far you’re the only human who knows and isn’t still working through issues, at least from what I can tell, I mean…you could be a bit deferential. Granted, I’m retired, but I was the Lord of Hell. That usually comes with some cache, does it not?”

“I’m snarkier on only three hours of sleep.” He took a big sip, hoping that something would wake him up. Interactions with Lucifer were surreal enough when he had slept. “Now, really, I know you want to help me and my Miranda problem…”

“No longer an offer on the table. I feel after all you’ve done, that it’s more than fair payback.”

Gary groaned. Lucifer planned orgies or trailed after Chloe Decker like the world’s strangest puppy. He wasn’t sure the devil knew anything about actually being an, ahem, wingman. Again, not something Gary needed. Even the little bit of help he’d gotten the one time from Stevie and Clive had failed spectacularly.

“Alright, and I can understand you’re keen on this makeover stuff and that platform bollocks you’re on about.”

“It’s 2016, Preston, surely you know how social media works. Otherwise, that is rather sad.”

He took another swig of the Earl Grey, the heat of it grounding him to as much reality as was possible these days. “Facebook I had since uni, sure, and I ran the account for the restaurant I managed back in Surrey. I just don’t see the point in all the rest. I don’t have anything interesting to put online.”

“But you will!”

“Oh, I’m not---”

The devil wasn’t listening---when was he---and spun on his heels and back down the hall. “Now, which bit of the hovel is yours, Preston? I’d like to evaluate your sartorial situation more thoroughly.”

Gary groaned and trotted after him. “Last door on the right. Don’t touch the others’ stuff.”

Lucifer shook his head. “Roommates. We have so many scenarios in Hell that revolve around especially college roommate nightmares. Why subject yourself to this?”

“Rent’s close to three grand a month. That’s how,” he grumbled. “Just when you tornado through people’s things, make sure they’re mine.”

Lucifer nodded and turned to the right. “Oh, dearie me, this just will not do.”

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he couldn’t technically get upset at or scream at the Prince of Darkness. Well, maybe yell a little. Lucifer was still less likely to rip his arms off than the Goddess in a fit of pique or Ms. Smith, who’d probably do it some day because it was just too fun to resist.

“Well, boss, I came here with about three thousand pounds in savings and my rucksack. What were you expecting?” He made his way down the hall and leaned against the doorframe even as his employer started flitting through his room.

“Have you heard of _colors_, Preston?”

“I rent. Can’t exactly get out a paintbrush, can I?”

  
Lucifer shook his head and regarded Gary’s space. In turn, the chef tried not to shrink down too much as he evaluated the devil’s scrutiny on his (extremely) humble abode. The bed was actually fairly freshly made. He’d only changed out his sheets two days ago, and the simple navy cotton was clean. In the corner was a book case that housed a mix of cookbooks he’d found in small Mom and Pop bookshops in Los Angeles and a crate of vinyl records he’d also scavenged from around the city on his days off. A few reprints from Renaissance painters were hung up over the modest desk sat across from the foot of his bed. A final painting, an actual one, was hidden under his bed, and he should have trashed it the minute it arrived on his doorstep from Clive because that _painting _was made to bring nothing but pain.

Yet he hadn’t been able to dispose of it.

Some of his clothes from this week that hadn’t made it in the wash yet littered the floor. The rest were folded up in a small set of plastic drawers he’d gotten at a big box store in August when all the return to uni contraptions were out for the co-eds. Sum of his life, and most of it had been purchased in the last six months in Los Angeles.

Lucifer, being Lucifer, explored everything thoroughly. One day, Gary would have to repay the favor and actually look over the boss’s own bookshelf. Stuff there looked ancient, like should be under glass to keep the paper from rotting to nothing. However, turn about was fair play, and he definitely wasn’t going to poke through Lucifer’s stuff soon. Hopefully, none of it was something utterly confusing and mystical. Rather not touch the boss’s stuff and end up a toad, assuming that were a thing. Probably wasn’t, but he worked for Satan so who could really say?

He eyed the collection of records and nodded appreciatively. “Motown, never would have figured that.”

“What did you peg me for?”

Lucifer smirked. “You? Oh, I’d have called The Cure in a heartbeat, something suitably mopey, Preston.”

“No, mostly Motown, lots of Stevie Wonder, and, alright, I’ll admit there’s some Dire Straits in there.”

“Not going to complain on that one. Had business once in the great salt flats of Uyuni.”

“Gesundheit?”

“No, it’s a place, out in Dad-forsaken recesses of Bolivia. Took hours to get there and sometimes having wings has advantages. Anyway, listened to Dire Straits for four hours on repeat on the way out there. Suppose I’ve got a bit of Stockholm Syndrome going on with them.” He turned his attention to the three prints. “Definitely not what I expected.”

“What did you?”

“Don’t rightly know. Maybe a football or rugby poster. Maybe something slightly pretentious like ‘Starry Night’ or that ubiquitous one sheet from _Animal House_. Seen so many lads with that John Belushi in a ‘college’ sweatshirt in my time.”

“Collect souls from uni?”

  
“Not quite, but there are some great parties at UCLA. I’ve been known to stop by.”

Gary laughed because it was too early not to. Of course, the devil prowled sorority row. Why ever not? “I kind of didn’t figure out what I was going to do at uni for a while. I mean, I passed through a lot of ideas first. Met Miranda because we were both in English first. Then, I flitted for a bit to art, then art history since I’m not talented enough to actually do it professionally, and then I took econ, which I sucked at. Didn’t graduate till my fifth year. Ended up in just general business. Nothing exciting.”

Lucifer nodded and something sad flashed over his expression, chased away so quickly that Gary wasn’t 100% sure he’d actually seen it. “Let’s see---_Birth of Venus_, not bad taste in that, I suppose and that’s an El Greco. Most of his stuff is so very Catholic, isn’t it? Landscape’s nice enough.”

“Yeah, uh…” Gary said, not sure when he’d gotten into talking about fine art with the devil, but okay then.

Lucifer reached out and traced a forefinger over the surface of the final print. “Samson and Delilah by Rubens. Explains a lot on some levels.”

“Found his work interesting.”

Lucifer turned just enough to give Gary a wink. “I can see that with your bird.” The humor was out of his voice when he regarded the print once more. “I knew a girl named Delilah once.”

“You mentioned, although I guess I figured she took that as a stage name.”

“No, it was hers. How I met her at Lux. She was one of the best waitresses I’ve ever seen and her voice…it was lovely. I have siblings who’d have been envious of her talent. Odd, how a year can feel like forever ago.”

“I’m sorry she died.”

Lucifer nodded but kept his posture tight, his shoulders straight. “As am I.” He turned again and looked down at the floor. The few castoffs on the carpet included a pair of jeans with one rip at the knee, a pair of cargo pants, and a few black t-shirts for work. “Is this all you’ve got?”

Gary shrugged. “There’s a few more pieces in that drawer thing over there. I mean, I came over with anything I could carry. I have a pair of khakis if I ever had anywhere nice to go and one pair black trousers. Then a few button downs and extra t-shirts. I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

Lucifer opened one of the plastic drawers and shook his head. “Oh, this is just rather depressing.” Then, he focused down to the floor.

Gary sighed; his patience officially dead by now. “Look, I agreed to this, sort of, because you clearly need a distraction while Linda works through the whole you’re-the-devil-thing.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at Gary. “You have a fine talent for making the infernal and, frankly, formerly—very formerly—divine sound mundane, Preston. It’s more than just a ‘thing.’”

Oh Christ…wait shouldn’t even think it. He’d gotten the devil extra prickly already. “Fine then. You want a project, and I want to keep Ms. Smith happy and, by extension, both my arms intact, but does it have to involve my clothes?”

“These!” Lucifer said, holding up a pair of cargo pants littering the floor. “Cannot be labeled clothes. In fact, do you have lighter fluid? Never mind I can immolate anything…”

“You can what?” And he didn’t yip, not really. Okay, maybe a little.

“Well, what all do you think I can do?”

Gary pinched the bridge of his nose. If he’d known that, he’d have just dragged his rucksack to Lux. Let Lucifer accidentally set his own bloody flat on fire.

“Wait, roll that back one more time,” Gary said, trying to make sure his flat mates didn’t come back to a burning crater. “You can what now?”

Lucifer opted to shove the clothes---such as they were---all into the plastic set of temporary drawers since he didn’t have a garbage bag. “Oh, Preston, we can do so much better. Also, why wouldn’t I be able to control fire?”

“I…uh…maybe we shouldn’t set things on fire though.” Gary ran a hand through his messy hair and it came back slightly damp. Great, his boss was making him nervous. “Devil powers aside…”

Lucifer grinned as he carried the drawer and most of Gary’s wardrobe to the front room. “Oh, light and fire were _always mine_. That’s not infernal at all; what do you think ‘Lucifer’ even means?”

“I took French in secondary school.”

“Oh, for Dad’s sake, just help me decide what to burn later at Lux.”

Gary didn’t have to be told twice to hurry out there and defend what little of his wardrobe he could.

**

Lucifer would have to drag his chef to buy something that approached acceptable as a wardrobe. Out of what he’d seen and scoured through---miniscule as it was---he’d deigned to leave Preston the jeans as well as the black t-shirts for work. Anything unmentionable was in some other drawer or hamper, and that was fine. For now. However, anything with that blasted cargo pants pockets had to go. And they said he was evil, whoever invented that fashion no-no should be arriving in Lucifer’s former kingdom someday. That left really a few more tees, and he’d allowed the Ziggy Stardust and the Queen ones to stay because at least Preston had some glimmers of taste and hope, faint as they may have been.

He was having trouble convincing the other man that the blue and white striped Oxford was not only made of cheap fabric but had holes worn at the elbows that couldn’t be salvaged. “This one too.”

Gary narrowed his eyes at him and yanked the shirt back. Lucifer let him have it at least long enough to plead the poor, bedraggled shirt’s case. If he’d resisted, the rag would have torn apart completely. “Not this one. Honestly, not any of them. You don’t need to get me all trussed up.”

Lucifer sat down on the woefully lumpy “sofa,” although he was sure something with that many stains shouldn’t qualify any longer and crossed one leg over the other. “I very much do. Since part two of my plans include getting you on Instagram and a profile or two on dating sites…I suppose Grindr’s a pass.”

“All dating sites are a hard pass.”

“You need to work on crafting the world’s best apology, but that’s on you. However, till then, you make the bird realize what she’s been missing. That means getting a platform…presence…whatever you need to show Miranda you’re out and about again. But you can’t have a good Tinder or whichever you prefer profile without the right look, and this is all very interconnected.”

“I like this shirt.”

“This shirt needs to be retired and given a proper Viking funeral.”

Preston glowered and, to be honest, it wasn’t a bad look on him. Not devilface scary, but it was encouraging to see the git developing some spine. The shirt still needed immolation and STAT, but at least the chef was standing up for something. “Not this one.”

“Then tell me why to show it mercy.”

“I…Miranda and I had a lot of starts and stops. We were real close once, and I wore this on our one proper date, alright?”

Lucifer arched an eyebrow back at his employee. “You’ve known this bird of yours for fifteen years, and, I assume, flirted through college, but you never went on a date?”

“I wouldn’t say that in so many words.” Preston sighed and leaned against the recliner. “We always hung out, but we never really labeled it. When we tried to change the status quo…well, I was already married to Tamara so she could have a green card, but yes, alright, our one proper date---pear shaped as that went---and I’d like to keep this one.”

Before he met the detective, Lucifer would have mocked an instinct that sentimental, but he had a flattened bullet in his top sock drawer that was, eventually, going to be set on a fine silver chain for the woman who’d discharged it. Yes, he understood sentimentality, at least now. “I understand. But the rest, I’m burning the minute I drag it behind an alley.”

“Oy, you can’t just start random fires!”

“You also act like I can’t just _stop_ them as I please. Come now, Preston, have some respect for my phenomenal cosmic powers.” He sighed and tried to ignore the way the different lumps on the cushion shifted as he did. How did humans survive being poor? It was utterly distasteful. “But the rest we get rid of. I have no illusions about you and a nice suit.”

“We are not going that far.”

“Fine, but I’ve some ideas on where to hit on Rodeo Drive later this afternoon.”

The git’s eyes went wide. “Boss, I can’t! That’s…first of all, it’s not me.”

“Yes, that’s why we’re doing it.”

“Second, I can’t pay that back. I mean, I’d never be able to pay that back. That’s like sell kidney and then the other one levels of dosh needed right there.”

Lucifer chuckled. “First of all, I’ve been around since forever, literally, so I’ve more money than you could fathom.”

“Well, modesty is clearly not a virtue of yours.”

“I have absolutely no virtues, don’t pretend otherwise,” he bit back. Maybe he was softer later than he had been, much to Maze’s complaints, but he wasn’t virtuous, far from it.

Preston held the shirt close to his chest as if it could conjure Miranda before both of them. “You did trade your one ticket out of Hell for me, so I think there might be some virtues there.”

“Guilt apparently I can suffer. Who knew? Didn’t know it until Delilah was killed. I don’t like when harm comes to my employees. You’re on the list, feel fortunate.”

“Are we mates?”

Lucifer frowned. “Beg pardon?”

“Look, I don’t…this is an asinine favor cause Miranda’s not going to just dump the bloke she’s dating now because I have a few pics of me at Lux or whatever your grand scheme is.”

“There’s another guy in the picture? You didn’t mention that. Means that time is even more of the essence than I first surmised.”

Preston blushed, a furious hint of pink going up his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. Ugh, Lucifer distinctly hoped he didn’t do that either. It was such a soft look. “My mate back home, Clive, mentioned it a couple weeks ago. He thinks it’s serious, yeah, like the ponce might propose to her over Christmas.”

“Then, this calls for drastic measures! We’ll get you set up today and then start with the platform stuff tonight. Ooh, it’s short notice, but I bet that Mazikeen and I can organize a party. You can just go, we’ve other bartenders.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be my fairy godfather. This is distinctly messed up.”

Lucifer grinned. “If it’s the cost…”

“It’s everything!” Preston replied. “It’s too expensive. It’s not me, and she’s not dumb enough to fall for whatever this is as a set up. Besides, I don’t want to feel I’ll owe you forever.”

“Because I’m the devil?” And no, his tone wasn’t snippy. It was just more pinched than before. It didn’t matter much what Preston thought of him, not at all.

“No, because I don’t like owing anyone. I bet you could understand that so, well, I suppose even if we’re friends now…it’s too much.”

Lucifer stood and considered that. “I don’t have many friends. I have employees, and I know acquaintances now at the station. I suppose what I have now is a minion with some betrayal tendencies in Mazikeen, the partnership with the detective, and a chef.”

“One who works very hard to keep your mum from blowing your kitchen up, I might add.”

Lucifer shrugged. “I suppose, if I consider the detective a mortal friend, then I might consider granting you the same courtesy.”

“Oh, how magnanimous,” he replied, bunching the shirt into a ball in his hands.

Dear Dad was the git hard on clothing. Lucifer nodded. “So, then, friends help each other out, right?”

“Not usually by dragging them to the 90210, no.”

“Well, whatever I buy and however Mazikeen and I figure out to get your bird to notice you over here…it’s not about the money. It’s all just there anyway, where I used it or not. Honestly, Preston, I could sell a single thing from my library and have money for months on it. There are works there that would leave the biggest ancient manuscript collectors in the world salivating. But, honestly, I’m more in your debt than you would be in mine.”

The other man narrowed his eyes back at him. “Then maybe we’re at an impasse. I don’t like feeling like I owe anyone. I made my way around two continents by being mostly self reliant. Last favor I did take ended up cocking up my whole life.”

“Tamara,” Lucifer said, tenting his fingers in front of him. “What did you actually do? Besides later have to marry the girl and, I can tell this from the off, you definitely shagged her, didn’t you?”

“It was a fling, a few nights, but dead long before I had to drag her back to England.”

“Oh dear.”

He sputtered, cheeks flushing purple almost in his frustration. “You’re telling me, boss.”

“But what legal trouble did her family need to help you with to begin with. What started a favor gone so horribly awry?”

Preston looked like he wanted to pace, but there wasn’t space in the rabbit warren that comprised his flat for him to do so. Instead, he twisted the Oxford shirt in his hands and didn’t face Lucifer in the eye. “You’re not going to mojo it out of me, are you?”

“I’m asking so I can help you. I can only get desires from people, not regrets.”

“I…it was stupid.”

“Clearly.”

“I mean…” Preston fumbled. “Have you ever heard of urban exploring?”

“No?”

“Sometimes you just go to places that are abandoned---old factories, churches, abandoned schools---you bring a camera and film it for Youtube or whatever. It’s just a fun way to poke around a place. Tamara suggested we check out this old, abandoned hospital in central Hong Kong. Sort of a dare? You know? See if you can find a ghost. It was all utter bollocks but it sounded fun enough, and I wasn’t going to chicken out on her.”

“You’re afraid of geese but not ghosts?”

“I suppose I should add the disclaimer that I’m pretty bothered by mice too.” Preston scratched as his nose with a now free hand. “We went, made a racket, and she slipped out before the cops showed up. I didn’t. So then you have a non-citizen on an maybe lapsed VISA breaking an entering and….”

“I see.”

“Yeah, I was facing some time because someone in the district was looking to establish a reputation for himself. Tamara begged her parents who were big time local solicitors, and that was the deal. But it was so buggered up, and I was such a prat in the whole deal. I didn’t want to do time, and I didn’t want Miranda to _know_ how close I’d come. I figured that eventually Tamara would move out, and it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“So, you figured you’d lie long enough, and it would all go away. Rarely happens. It’s exactly why I don’t lie,” Lucifer said.

Preston’s eyes were narrowed by then to slits. “You do, though. By omission of course.”

“I always tell people I’m the devil, but humans refuse to believe me.”

“I’m not saying you flash your face to everyone you meet. Clearly, Linda has proven that’s a difficult prospect and takes time, even with the few of us you trust.”

  
“If you’re on about the detective…”

“Not exactly, and it’s not the time when you’re still working through acclimating the doc and with your mum still around and such. That said, I was trying to hide Tamara from Miranda, and you’re trying to skirt around being the literal, Biblical devil from Chloe.”  


Lucifer sighed and rubbed at his temples, as if he could get a headache. It felt like one was coming on, but he figured it was all psychosomatic. The mental gymnastics and back and forth with Preston tended to do that to him. “It is different.”

Preston shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s all in the past for me now. Miranda’s right pissed over it, and she has every reason to. She’s got some nice reporter pillock who’s apparently gone on her, and I just…the devil’s makeover isn’t going to fix that.”

Preston wasn’t wrong there, but Lucifer didn’t think a few opening volleys could hurt. However, for something quite this drastic, there needed to be other plans. Quickly the wheels in his head started turning, and Lucifer knew exactly what he was going to do. He just wasn’t sure of all the fine details yet.

“Still, but the best foot forward always helps. Look, Gary,” he replied. “I think we’re at a point where we’ve done each other yeoman’s service back and forth. You got shot because of me, but I have a goddess who needs being sat and a psychiatrist who is not a babbling mess anymore because of you. That’s worth far more to me than whatever a bit of a splurge would cost.”

“I just…”

Lucifer stood and regarded the other man. “Let’s not bloody treat this like a game of tennis anymore. We’re not going tit-for-tat. Look at it this way. I need things, you need things, and we won’t keep a tally anymore. You’re not a bad bloke, and you’ve helped me a lot so far. I do feel bad about you and your bird, and I’d like to help.” He shrugged. “Besides, certain insurance companies assume we’re brothers.”

“I’ve gotten quite good at fraud of late.” Preston laughed. “Insurance fraud’s probably a sight better than immigration fraud, but I’ve got that covered in two countries now too. I just…”

“Then, think of it as more fraternal than a system of debts. I like you better than Amenadiel anyway. You’re less pompous and unrelenting. Just let me help you get this plan launched, yeah?”

Preston considered him, shirt still clutched to him like a Talisman. “You think this might work?”

“Have I ever failed to seduce a man or woman?”

“Um…”

  
“The answer is a resounding_ no_, so I can do it by proxy. Now, take whatever we’ve salvaged and get dressed proper. Seriously, I’ll ring up Mazikeen and we’ll get the party set for tonight. Let me handle the whole thing. I’m quite good at…”

“Favors?” Preston asked, even as he turned down the hall.

“Debuts,” Lucifer replied, grinning. “Go on now.”

Preston grumbled half-heartedly down the hall and disappeared behind the farthest back door which Lucifer assumed was a (probably roach-infested) restroom. He waited a beat until he heard the shower running. Good, he needed the cover of some noise. Slipping to the small end table by the door, Lucifer helped himself to shuffling through the mail. Most of it was to general resident and consisted of just ads, a few bills to the other lads who had to be in the flat too, but he hit pay dirt at the bottom, an enveloped delivered a couple days ago from someone called “Clive” in Surrey.

Lucifer eased the envelope open with the same kind of skill he used to tumble open locks. Pulling out the small letter, he skimmed it. Interesting, apparently there was a christening of all things for Preston’s goddaughter back in Surrey in two weeks. Either Preston didn’t know, or he wasn’t planning to go back and was avoiding the snail mail invitation. Surely, Clive had called or emailed the chef with the details before the formal set up sent by hand.

Lucifer shoved the paper back in the envelope, sealed it back, and set the missive back to the bottom of the mail pile. Then, he smirked. Timing was quite convenient. He had enough space in his schedule to ensure Amenadiel was around to watch Mum, and that Patrick and Mazikeen---if she deigned to---could handle Lux for a few days. He’d even let the detective know he was traveling in order to free himself up from consulting duties.

After all, “Gary” had a christening to go to, didn’t he?


End file.
